


Recollection

by Goatfish



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series, Final Fantasy XIII-2, Lightning Returns: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: After the Events of LR, Drama, Eventual Fluff, F/F, Family, Family Drama, Gen, Homophobic Language, Huzzah not entirely angst, M/M, Post Lighning Returns, Sexist Language, Work In Progress, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-11-14
Packaged: 2018-02-03 12:01:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goatfish/pseuds/Goatfish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lady Luck is a fickle bitch about these types of problems. Fang had pristine memories of what happened, but it just had to be that her better half was one of the few who were out of the loop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The First Step

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends,  
> This was supposed to be a short, cute, fluffy Fanille ficlet. I don't know what happened.  
> It takes place after Lightning Returns. The ages of the characters are a bit wonky/flexible. It's a work in progress, so apologies if it's grievously difficult to get through. There should be around 8 chapters total, well that was the plan, but at this rate there may be more. Like always, if you, dear reader, find a mistake. Please let me know, as I don't have anyone to proofread this aside from myself.  
> With that said and done, many, many thanks.  
> -Love, Goatfish.

(Fang and Vanille): Chapter 1- The First Step

 

 

     As bars go, Serendipity was a nice place. It didn’t have a line of far too drunk people arguing for just one more drink for the night, it didn’t reek of sweat and cheap perfume, the lighting was surprisingly cheerful as it cast a soft, blue shine on the people chatting and drinking around the counter. There wasn’t music blaring in deafening belts, there wasn’t a cluster of nervous teenagers trying to get a drink and not get carded. There was none of this. Instead, it was a pleasant environment, with a creative color theme of purple and swirling black and shimmery gold. While not necessarily a large establishment, Serendipity was an all-around good place. Not drastically expensive, but not bottom of the barrel either. This is why she and Hope had made it their elected spot to meet, greet, and chat.

     Vanille and Hope first stopped in there because the name and atmosphere just seemed to invite them in with open arms. Neither one of them were heavy drinkers, but it proved to be a fun place to catch up on what was happening in their lives and casually converse over a drink or two. This became a weekly ritual, after the day shift on Fridays, they would go to Serendipity to discuss any matter of topics. Usually, it involved Hope venting about how his job as an ambulance technician was _so_ incredibly stressful, and that he saw so many people torn up past any human recognition. Vanille never told him off or scolded him for his career choice, she knew it wouldn’t have done any good if she had tried, plus Hope was determined to help people, no matter what the cause of their injury or extent of it was. He just wanted to make a difference.

     Hope was a caring sort. That was plain to everyone that knew him, his coworkers and family knew it, and anyone that had any form of contact with him knew it. She would listen intently as he would divulge information on some of the patients he had seen, offering a sympathetic ear and occasionally adding a statement or question to get a clearer picture of the situation. Vanille enjoyed listening to his stories, which she found far more interesting than her career choice. She worked at a daycare, caring for and monitoring kids that were well behaved to the point that it was almost boring. They didn’t scream or fuss, draw on the walls in bright colored crayons, or anything that one would expect a group of young ones to do. No, they were the quiet ones who spent most of their time in their own heads or stuffed in the dusty pages of a book.

     Every once in a while, they would draw her a picture that she would proudly hang on her refrigerator in her apartment, but that was the extent of the excitement at Little Cactuar Daycare Center.

     However, today was different. Time wobbled past. Hope still hadn’t shown up. Vanille had sent him a concerned text, asking if they were still on for today at Serendipity, and if everything was alright. He didn’t answer. Swirling her drink absently at the counter, she kept an eye on her phone at all times in case he replied. It was unusual for him to be late, Hope had never outright ditched without letting her know, so perhaps he had lost his phone or something. Vanille smiled as she swiped the screen to the left, browsing through pictures they had taken a fair time back at the park. Here’s one of her making bunny ears behind his head when he tried to look serious, the dork always looked serious so that wasn’t much of a change. Here’s one of when she managed to catch him almost asleep reading a book on something science related. All of these small, precious fragments of a wonderful day that she kept close at hand.  
     

     A quiet buzz and a text box appeared, interrupting the haze of euphoric memories.

“Won’t be able to make it to Serend, Mom got sick, we’re taking her to the Hospital now. Sorry.”

     Vanille involuntarily let out a shocked gasp, earning her a bemused look or two from some folks sitting on stools around the bar. One woman in particular, who was sitting a few seats away, raised a quizzical eyebrow before shrugging and returning her attention to her drink. She wrote back as fast as her fingers would allow,

                                      “OMG :( let me know when you can!! keep me updated!”                   

     She slouched her posture, eyes locked on the screen in dismay. Hope and his mother were always close, and for her to get ill out of the blue was just distressing. The thought crossed her mind, while she finished the last of her daiquiri (strawberry is the only way to go, of course) since her plans had been messed up, that she would just go home early. Get some extra sleep, clean up around the apartment a bit, maybe check in again with Hope to see if there was something he needed. But that sounded so _boring_.

     Any such plans were altered, when a lanky, wiry, man decided to occupy the stool right next to hers. There were plenty of vacant and available barstools around, meaning he obviously had an idea in mind with his choice of seating.

     “Hey, can I get a rusty nail and another daiquiri for the lady?” He asked the bartender, wearing a smarmy grin.

     “What, uh- no thanks- I was actually just about to leave.” Vanille said, looking this character up and down. He was in his mid-thirties, as far as she could tell. Had an obnoxiously green polo shirt, black hair tied behind his head in a stubble of a ponytail, and disproportionately long limbs that didn’t seem to meet at the torso in a normal fashion. This guy wasn’t a regular, she could sense that immediately as making weekly trips with Hope gave her a sense of who belonged and who didn’t. _He_ didn’t. He tilted his head and glanced at her from the sides of his eyes,

     “Come on, it’s just one drink. Don’t be a stranger.”

     Sighing, Vanille replied, “Alright, _one_ drink.” though she thought to herself, _Play him for a free drink then out the door._

     “That’s the spirit.” Again with a broad grin, “Well let’s start with introductions. I’m Tanner. What’s your name then, gorgeous?”

     “Dia.” Vanille said the first name that came to mind, not intending on getting friendly with this ridiculous brute. She put her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in the palm. _You’ve got to be kidding me._

     “Dia,” Tanner drew the name out in a purr, “perfect name for a perfect girl.”

     A few stools away someone choked on their drink, coughing loudly. Muttering a curse under their breath, they ordered another scotch on the rocks and leaned over the counter again. This distracted Vanille from her determined attempts to ignore the chattering figure perched to her right. Now aware of Vanille having every intent of avoiding him, he spread out against the counter, occupying as much space as he physically could to get her attention. Tanner fiddled with one of his spidery fingers.

     “So, uh Dia.”

     She let out a sound of acknowledgement that could roughly constitute as an answer.

     “D’you have any plans for later or-?” When she did not grace his inquiry with a response, he took it as a sign to continue and pressed on, “I typically like chicks to have a little meat on their bones, if you catch what I’m saying, but if you’re free…”

     Whatever switch he was looking for to grab her attention, by God he found it. Just not in the way he was probably hoping for. Vanille spun around and faced him,

     “How _dare_ you? What sort of girl do you think I am?” Rounding on him, disgusted, though not raising her voice to a full yell. She rose from the seat and pushed it under the dark counters ledge, showing quite clearly that she was done with the whole situation. Vanille had only taken one, perhaps two steps before he seized her wrist aggressively.

     “Aw come on, don’t be like that.” He said, struggling to keep her from walking away. “I meant it as a compliment, doll.”

     If glares were daggers, Tanner would be drinking that rusty nail out of gaping stab wound from his neck. Not wanting to cause a scene, he let out a raucous, nasal laugh, playing it all off like a joke so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. He offered the bartender in the process of finishing the strawberry drink another fulsome smile that didn’t reach the rest of his spindly features. Vanille had half of an insult formed in her mouth before a very distinct, “Right, I’ve had enough of this.” pierced the air. The screeching slide of a seat being pushed in forcefully followed, while a woman approached Tanner and Vanille.

     It was the same woman who had sputtered at his first attempt at a suave remark. She had a tall, athletic build, billowy dark brown hair that fell past her shoulders and small braid behind her ear. Wearing a basic black tank top and olive green cargo pants, there was a large tribal tattoo visible on her bare arm. As she strutted over to the gaunt man still holding Vanille’s wrist in a vice-like grip, she forced herself between the two, arms crossed in utter contempt. Vanille took a step to the side, giving this newcomer space, and passing glances from one to the other in confusion. What was going on?

     “First of all, dickless,” she began, grinding the words out between her teeth, “if you’re trying to compliment a woman, you don’t _ever_ mention her weight. I don’t care if she’s 10 pounds or 510 pounds, you don’t fucking do it. Second,” she paused as Tanner turned to Vanille, bewildered. She prodded him with her index finger in his sternum to regain his attention.

     “I said, second. Don’t you dare to talk to a woman like she’s a piece of steak. She’s a Human. Fucking. Being.” She punctuated each word by means of additional forceful prods, “So address her as such. And lastly, if you’re looking for a quick score, make sure to leave your wedding band at home, you ill-mannered bastard.” Ending her tirade by gesturing to his ring finger that bore a faded gold-plated ring, which is what he had been messing with earlier.

     Tanner sneered, squinting at her before matching the assertive posture equally. He had let go of Vanille’s wrist.

     “Pfft. Hey, you know this bitch, Dia?” He snarled, lengthening himself to his full posture.

     Nervous, she looked at the tattooed woman, unsure of what to say. To her surprise, she winked and inched towards Vanille in a protective gesture.

     “Of course she knows me, she’s my girlfriend. So you can either back the hell off, or we can settle this the old fashioned way.” The brunette had lurched into his face, getting within inches of his thin, pointed nose. Tanner blinked.

     “I’m not afraid to hit a stupid cunt like you.” He spat, trying to be intimidating.

     She offered a savage smirk, quirking her head to the side, daring and threatening.

     “Funny, I was about to say the same damn thing.”

     The tension between the two opposites was palpable. One, tall, gangly and leering. The other, muscular, contemptuous and imposing despite high differences. It dawned on Tanner that this chick, this broad, was probably itching for a fight all evening. He’d seen her sitting off in the distance throwing him unimpressed glares for the entire time that he’d been here. She was a formidable person by any means, and he was not entirely sure that he could win against her.

     Tanner backed down with a scoff, flicking a few strands of wispy black hair out of his face.

     “You’re not even worth my time. Probably get off on it, you sick fuck.” Without another word he turned and skulked off to a different corner of the bar, trying to find an easier candidate for his unsavory affair. Though every once in a while he’d peek over his shoulder to see if Vanille was by herself again.

     Keeping a level eye on the scrawny offender, she murmured out of the side of her mouth, “Follow my lead, miss.” then announced pointedly, “Come on, let’s leave Stick-boy to find easier people to _manipulate_.”

     Tanner flipped them the middle finger before returning his focus on a giggling blonde sipping a bay breeze and fluttering eyelashes at him. Taking Vanille’s hand gently, they laced fingers and headed for the exit, passing a group of heavily intoxicated men who smiled in a lopsided attempt of approval, glad to see this new guy get a good tongue-lashing for hassling a regular.

     Vanille hoped that the next time she and Hope went there, that Tanner would be hitting up a different bar for a date. Arriving at the door, the woman pushed it open carefully, holding it open for Vanille behind her. By now, it was late into the evening and the spring weather hadn’t decided to take a chance getting warm yet. The stiff wind making it chilly and sent a few scattered clouds prancing across the sky in hasty pursuit of one another. Serendipity was a unique location in that it was one of the few standalone bars in Arcadia that managed to prosper. Others had to survive on quirky titles, popular locations, or some new touristy attraction to snag the occasional drinker. It was located on the corner of Mog Street, the entertainment and general fun section downtown. Mog Street itself was a four lane, bustling road that offered a never ending stream of cars, buses, taxis and city noise.

     Vanille and the mysterious woman walked for a while, passing various people strolling about in the evening hours, until Serendipity was pushed into the horizon a safe distance away. The woman glanced over her shoulder and pulled off to the side, out of the main flow of pedestrian traffic. Aware that they were still holding hands, Vanille let go and faced her defender at last.

     “Sorry about that, that guy was some mess wasn’t he?” She said, dropping the tough, imposing exterior in no time flat. The sudden change of personality was a bit startling.

     Taken aback, Vanille began,

     “Thanks for getting rid of him but…do I…do I know you?” Vanille searched the woman’s verdant eyes. She could have sworn there was a moment of pain in their depths and a look that fringed on…disappointment? In a flash it was gone, smothered by a forced laugh as she crooked an arm behind her head and rubbed her neck vacantly.

     “Hah, oh yeah! Where are my manners, the name’s Fang. Apologies for ruinin’ your night at the bar, Dia.”

     It was Vanille’s turn to chuckle, she threw her hands up in a careless shrug. “My name’s not really Dia. It’s Vanille, and that’s okay. Wasn’t planning on sticking around there anyway, I was waiting for someone.”

     “Is that so?” Fang’s demeanor perked up.

     “Mmhm,” Vanille nodded, smiling, “but he had to cancel because his mom got sick.”

     “Ah,” Her face fell, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

     “Me too.” She trailed off, somber. A sudden thought demanded to be known as it had been brewing in her mind this entire time, “Say Fang, I can’t help but ask, why’d you butt in?”

     “What, back there?” Fang shifted her weight to the other foot, seeming uncomfortable. “I just-I can’t stand people getting pushed around by jerks. I’ve got patience for a lot of things in this world, but assholes? Not one of ‘em.”

     “Well I appreciate it, though I could have handled him myself.”

     “No doubt there.”

     “Tell you what,” Vanille said, “Since I owe you one, next time there’s a guy like him-“

     “ _Guy_ is being generous, I’d say more of a slimy, lowlife, womanizing-“    

     “-I’ll be the one to bail _you_ out. Sound like a deal?” She took a pen out of her small shoulder bag, scribbled a few numbers on a piece of scrap paper and handed it to Fang. “If you ever get heckled by another Tanner, call me and let me talk to him. I’ll scream bloody murder over the phone so he’ll go deaf in one ear.”

     The corners of Fang’s mouth rose in a goofy grin, as she accepted the number from the fiery pink haired woman, who beamed at her good-naturedly.

     “Deal. Don’t mean to be invasive, but do you think you can get home safely? I don’t think Stick-boy has the guts to try anything. It’s just better safe than sorry.” Fang  mentioned.

     Vanille nodded in confirmation, that yes she could get home well enough on her own. But then she added as an afterthought, “What about you?”

     “Me?” She motioned to herself in an overly dramatic semblance of disbelief, “I’ll be fine, I can kick the daylights out of his type any day of the week.”

     Vanille let out a snort of laughter before covering her mouth. The street roared on in the frantic, frenzy of traffic that continues on even in the dark hours of the evening. Night coated the cityscape in a soft, velvet array. Defining the sharp corners of each building by their electric illumination spilling out into the air and ground, drudging up shadows like dust. There was a strange expression on Fang’s face, in between sadness and relief. She turned away and took a step towards the street, yelling, “Taxi!”

     Facing Vanille as a cab pulled up next to the curb she said, “Now then, it’s been a blast. And I’m gonna take you up on that offer. Catch you later then.”

     “Sure.”

     Fang looked as if she was going to say something, her mouth opened, then closed as she shook her head, thinking better of it. She stepped into the cabin of the taxi, glancing at the figure on the sidewalk who made a face as the wind blew in a strong gust.

     “See you ‘round,” Fang paused, adding quietly before she slammed the door shut, “…Vanille.”

      The yellow and black car stormed off down the street and she watched it vanish in the bustle of traffic, blurring into just another fast moving speck in the river of vehicles. A part of Vanille sank within herself though she could not find the reason.

 

 

 

 


	2. Old Friends and New Problems

(Fang and Vanille) Chapter 2: Old Friends and New Problems

 

     Streetlights passed overhead as Fang leaned back against the worn leather seat in the taxi. Each time one would cross the cab’s windows, a square or rectangle of pale orange light would stream through to where she sat, dancing across her neck and face. She was lost in the maelstrom of her own thoughts, staring out of the window without seeing. All of them leading her back to a single person, a single problem.

     Years ago, when they had beaten Bhunivleze, the Creator with no empathy, and creation began anew, she had thought that life would finally be what she wanted. A blessing. No more fighting or running, no more monsters, gods, magic, sociopolitical turmoil. But she was wrong. Shit, was she ever wrong. As life ground its way out again to a steady rhythm, at first glance it was perfect. It was in the cruel irony of such, that not everyone remembered what they had been and who they had been before. A new chance like they had always wanted. Except for one thing, the one person that really mattered at all to her.

     Vanille. She had no recollection or memory of ever existing before now. She didn’t know who Fang was, why she was looking out for her, none of it. How can someone forget you, when you’ve got over a thousand years of history with them? When you’ve been together since before the whole damn _universe_ existed and still they can’t remember all the days you spent immobilized in crystal with only their company. When you literally went to the end of the world, the death of all you’ve ever known, in their arms.

     Restarting existence had to have been going too smoothly for this to happen, Fang suspected she should have figured as much. Lady Luck is a fickle bitch about these types of problems. Fang had pristine memories of what happened, but it just _had_ to be that her better half was the one who was out of the loop. Dark and dreary thoughts clung like cobwebs in the corners of her mind, it was only when the taxi driver called out, “Hey miss, we’re here.” did she realize that the journey back home was finished.

     “What? Oh, right. Here.” She fished out a handful of bills from the pockets of her pants and shoved it into driver’s arms. The driver chose not to argue, better to be short a few bucks than missing his front teeth. This passenger seemed ill at ease already, no need to further her disgruntlement.  
  
      Fang hardly noticed as the taxi drove off, her mind still in a tangle of conundrums. The car dropped her off at the start of a long, narrow concrete driveway which lead back towards an apartment complex. Though there were two houses on either side of the driveway, those were where the landlords lived and the rest…well. The rest lived in the deteriorating three story brick building in the back, at the end of the driveway, behind the two houses facing street side. Gathering her wits about her, Fang roused herself and strolled back to the secluded building at a quick pace.

     This was not a very affluent part of town, it had its fair share of decadence, violence, and late night police calls. However, she wouldn’t have it any other way. There was always sound, from the tenant on the third floor and the screaming matches between her and her illiterate husband or from the person who lived on ground level, inviting friends over to get drunk and sing off-key pop songs about breaking hearts, stupid boys, and being a rebel. Despite all these flaws, Fang adored the place because of them. It turns out, being suspended in crystal for years upon years in complete silence aside from one’s own thoughts is enough to make obnoxious neighbors a goldmine. They were raised, she and Vanille, in a place where nighttime had its own theme and hymns. Where the sounds of nature and possible threats became a lullaby that Fang had a hard time going without. Yeah, so it was a different form of danger, of noise and distinct creaks and growls. It didn’t necessarily matter, what the source was, as long as it helped her feel more like her.  
  
       Fang lived on the second floor, sandwiched between the two primary disrupters in the building. When she had shown interest in the place, the landlady (an older woman with a quick temper and a fondness for sherry) just about wept with happiness. It was not a conventionally attractive location, apartment, or situation. Crumbly red brick exterior, raucous neighbors, plus the flat she was looking at in particular had one bed, one bath and severe water damage in the bedroom’s corner.  
  
      Most sensible people would have turned their noses up at the less than glamorous location, opting for a higher end establishment or making it a temporary stopping ground before moving on. She could care less about appearances, what mattered to Fang was that it was practical, affordable, and teeming with activity. Fang was welcomed home as she unlocked her door by the exchanging of insults on the floor above her, as the clattering of plate signaled a spat between the typical offenders. _Home sweet home._

     There was a certain charm in going home to a messy apartment, where everything is exactly where it had been when she last needed it. It wasn’t as if there was a need to have the living room be spotless, when Fang was the only one living there. Cups, plates, and assorted eating utensils were aligned in a haphazard stack in the sink, a tilting tower of ‘get to it eventually’. By now, it was pushing one in the morning and she had been keeping an eye on Vanille since about eight. Fang decided she must have pushed being hungry into a corner of her mind that wasn’t occupied with worrying about her girl. She toyed with the idea of trying to cook a quick bite to eat, but settled for cereal when the few clean items in the cabinet were a couple of bowls.

     Fang flopped on the couch, kicking her feet up and listened to the ambient sounds of the two upstairs tossing insults back and forth.

_“You no good piece of shit, do you even know what time it is!?”_

_“I dun’t e’en want tah hear it from you.”_

_“You’re going to hear it if I have to rip your fucking ears off and scream into them! Why do you-“_

_“Shut yor stupid face, Bernette. All’s you ever say is th’ same old bullshi-”_

_“Don’t interrupt me! Don’t YOU interrupt me! For seven fucking years I’ve put with you, and you still act like a child, a damn child. You are a grown man so start acting like one, Phil!”_

_“I’m being a kid? I’m being a kid?! Whose th’ one here yelling at one in the night-“_

_“It’s one in the MORNING, you witless fucking idiot.”_

     At this point there was another loud crash as a piece of dinnerwear could be heard breaking into small, sharp pieces. Fang chuckled to herself with a mouth full of Cheerio’s, the people upstairs never got dangerous or life-threatening. The yelling and throwing and trash talk, it was all show. Phil and Bernette, they genuinely loved each other, they simply showed it in less conventional ways, like screaming insults at ungodly hours. Who needs T.V. when there’s a live drama upstairs at any given point of the day? Entertained by the show, Fang dozed off on the tawny couch, wondering what Vanille would think of those two.

* * *

 

     Fang jerked up with a start, hurtling out of the pleasantness of sleep by a loud knocking on her door.

_Bang! Bang! Bang!_

     “Alright, alright!” She yelled, groggy, “Gimme a moment.” Stumbling over to the door, she caught her Achilles heel on the table in front of the couch and let out a quick curse. Now that she was at the threshold, she peered out of the round, glass peephole near the top of the door. Fang grinned,

     “Well I’ll be.”

     She swung open the door, revealing a rather unimpressed woman with light, rose colored hair draped over her face and laying loose at her shoulders to one side. The threat of a smile playing at a corner of her mouth.

     “Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to stop by and pay me a visit.” Fang remarked dryly.

     She scoffed, “Your place isn’t exactly easy to find.”

     They maintained a sense of false hostility for a few seconds before Fang broke into a helpless cackle and embraced her.

     “Hah! Good to see you, Light. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

     “Yeah, it’s been a while. Can I come in, or do you keep all your guests standing on the landing outside?” Lightning said.

     Breaking apart the hug, Fang gave her a firm pat on the back and winked, “Just the old guests.”

     “You’re one to talk.” She countered as she entered the apartment with Fang.

     “So,” Fang spread her arms and motioned about the room, “this is my humble estate. Granted, it’s not fancy, or anything, but it is home.”

     Lightning appraised the living conditions. “Messy. Not the nicest neighborhood. It suits you.”

     “Let’s be real here, can you imagine me in some top notch place? What with all the stupid color schemes that look like someone puked a rainbow and more money than sense? The answer is no, you cannot.”

     She rolled her eyes almost audibly. Fang didn’t change much. Since the Rebirth, they had become better friends. Due in part to the fact that they were among the few who had all of their memories of what used to be still intact. Whenever she had free time from keeping Vanille out of trouble, or from working, Fang tried to stay in touch with the gang. Going through all _that_ isn’t an event that one can easily forget, the connections made aren’t things to forget either. Well, one would think.

     “Don’t have much, but d’you want something?” She walked towards the tiny kitchen, frowning at the cluttered sink. “I’d offer you a drink, but it’s a bit early for that yet.”

     “No thanks, I’m fine.” Lightning sat down on the couch, raising an eyebrow at the bowl on the table. Remnants of milk at the bottom of the container and a few stragglers of last night’s bloated cereal, “Rough night?”

     Leaning around the corner, Fang groaned. “Ugh, you have no idea.”

     “Getting into fights in a darkened alley for cash?”

     “Don’t be ridiculous.” she disappeared back into the kitchen. “I’m nowhere near that lucky.”

     Lightning turned her head to look over the back of the couch and in the general vicinity of the kitchen, “So what then?”

     Fang didn’t reply, halting as she was in the process of rummaging to clean a mug so she could get the greatly needed first cup of coffee. She propped herself against the countertop with both arms, staring down into the sink, quiet and still. After a few moments of silence, Lightning had drawn her own conclusions and voiced her thoughts.

     “It’s about Vanille. Isn’t it?”

     She let out a heavy sigh, “Yeah. It’s Vanille. It’s always about Vanille.” Fang rinsed out a mug and poured a cup of thick, almost syrupy coffee before walking back to the living room. The couch Lightning was seated on had three large cushions and consumed a good portion of the living room. Sitting on the opposite cushion, she peered absently into her black coffee, gathering her thoughts before continuing. Lightning understood.

     “Had to keep some prick’s hands off of her. Guy by the name of Tanner was getting a little too insistent. I try to not intervene but…” she halted, looking to Lightning.

     Her friend said nothing, encouraging Fang with her presence.

     “I can’t just sit there and watch some horny lowlife try to mess with her. Makes me blood boil just thinking about that little fucker. Anyway, I got in his face, he pissed off, and I escorted her out of the place. And she…she still doesn’t remember. Nothing. I thought for a second that she might when we were outside on the street but…nothing. Light, what if she-“

     “Don’t. She’ll come around.”

     “I know, Snow got himself sorted, but he had a healthy dose of prompting from your sister. I’m really all Vanille’s got. Lord knows, if I tried to tell her like it is, she’d up and run. Any sane person would if you told them they were your girlfriend from another universe.” Fang said bitterly.

     “Being a ‘saint’ has got to mess with your head. It may just take her longer than Snow.” Lightning replied, sensing that Fang was becoming uneasy.

     “But what if…”

     “ _What if_? What if she doesn’t ever remember you, remember us? What are you going to do about it? You can either wring your hands worrying, or you can accept it and try to move on.” Lightning said.

     Setting her teeth, Fang gripped the mug in her hands tightly, trying to diffuse some of the frustration building.

     “I am _not_ going to abandon her.”

     “I didn’t say that.” Lightning responded, even tempered. She had gotten used to Fang’s wild and assertive personality, her behavior didn’t alarm her. “I said you can try to move on. It doesn’t do you, or her, any damn good to lament about how it used to be. If she remembers eventually, great, everyone wins. If she doesn’t, then you’ve wasted a chance at a new life over the issues of the past instead of learning from them and adapting. She can lead a life happily, and you can be happy for her, even if it means you having to watch from the sidelines.”

     As the logic settled into her mind and the anger dissipated, Fang said in a sardonic manner. “You’re a real genial supporter, aren’t you?”

     Lightning reached over and playfully smacked her arm, “If you want someone to baby you, you’ll have better luck with Serah.”

     “How’s she doing, by the way, mellowed out or on more adventures?” Happy to change the topic to a more cheerful one, Fang inclined her head inquisitively at Lightning. Her friend shrugged, settling back into the cushions. Casting her gaze towards the ceiling she replied, sounding tired.

     “She’s off on her honeymoon with that idiot of hers.”

     “Still? I thought they went off on that a month or so ago?” Recalling the last time she saw the scattered crew.

     “They did.” Lightning stifled a weary sigh, “they’re planning to stay gone as long as they can. Something about ‘making up for lost time’.”

     “For the love of- if those two were any more saccharine, I swear we’d all be in a diabetic coma.”

     “Sometimes I think I’d prefer that.” She muttered darkly.

     “…heard anything about the others?” Fang prompted, though apprehensive. She knew that Lightning also was under the strain of having some of the team, what she would go so far as to call a family, out of action.

     Shaking her head, Lightning had a distant expression. The aloof, militaristic side of her had been eroded away in part but she still refused to openly display emotions to a large extent. They were similar in that respect, typically only breaking the shell of collected neutrality in cases revolving around those they were the most protective of. Although, at heart, she missed the ones that were absent deeply, Hope in particular. If someone had asked her about her pseudo-surrogate mother nature to the silver-haired boy (she assumed he was the age that Bhunivelze had returned him to, age was a strange facet of this new existence) the answer would have been a cold glare and a ‘none of your business’. She was concerned for him, of course, but didn’t prove beneficial to openly speak about her pain. It didn’t solve the problem, it didn’t make Hope suddenly appear with completed memory, so why do it?

     “We’re in the same boat on that one. Hey Light, can I ask your opinion about an idea, and be honest if you think it’s too pathetic.”

     “Mmm. Shoot.”

* * *

 

     Finger paints are a wonderful coloring tool when not in the hands of a rambunctious three year old. Vanille was starting to regret ever being bored with well-behaved kids at the Center, a curly blonde haired, blue-eyed ball of energy was a new member of the Little Cactuar family. Alexi was a misleading child, seemingly sweet and passive when being basked in attention but as soon as your back was turned, she’d be jumping over tables, recoloring the walls in finger paint or yanking the stories out of other the children’s hands.

     She was running, giggling through the room, streaking the walls in a mustard yellow that she had been using to color a large doodle of a bird she had been occupied with. It was as Vanille started to pursue her that her phone rang. Luckily it wasn’t on vibrate and her ringtone went off full blast in her purse, emitting a happy digital tune that seemed to transfix the hyperactive child. She finally managed to catch up to her and gently wiped the paint from Alexi’s small, clammy hand with a paper towel as she turned to where the sound was coming from.

     “Alexi,” Vanille scolded, “I told you _not_ to paint on the walls. Why don’t you go back to the picture of the chicken?”

     “ ‘s not a chick’n!” she said defensively, “ ‘s a chocoboco!” Pouting she stuck out her lip making a textbook frown.

     Unable to keep a grin from creeping up, she smiled, “I’m sorry, I meant ‘chocoboco’. Why don’t you work on that, you were doing so well on it!”

     “You mean it?” Alexi asked, giddy, curls bouncing up and down as she jumped in place.

     “You’re an artist, Alexi!” Vanille shooed her off towards the table. The children seated around it reading gave her a wounded look of betrayal.

     She arrived at her desk, grabbing the purse from under it and searched for the chirping device. Finally founding it, Vanille checked the number but didn’t recognize it right off the bat, giving it a suspicious hesitance, she answered the phone.

     “Hello?”

     “Hi, is this…Vanille?”

     “Yeah, why?” She said a little shortly, mind full of concerns about what Alexi may do next.

     “Oh, uh, sorry. It’s Fang. From the _Tanner_ incident at the bar a week or so ago.” The voice said, quickly elaborating.

     “OH!” She said loudly, getting a vaguely disapproving response as the quiet ones peeked up from their books at the disruption. She mouthed silently to them, _sorry,_ and they returned to the literature they were so consumed with. “Give me a second, I’m the company of kids, can’t release a torrent of curses right here and now.”

     Vanille excused herself outside, closing the door behind her as Alexi saw an opportunity for attention and starting wailing. Other children soon followed the mournful cry and Vanille was secretly happy as the telltale, high pitched, blood curdling scream from Alexi ceased when everyone else started doing it.

     “It’s actually not that,” Fang paused, sounding uneasy, “listen, I know this is dumb. I can understand you not wanting to go but, I managed to snag a couple of tickets to this museum exhibit that’s in town this week. It was one of those, buy one and we’ll throw another one in free so you can make it a date- I mean-“ she stuttered, “not-not a date, well that’s prolly what they figured it would be used for, but never mind. Shit, sorry, this was a bad idea. I just don’t really have anyone else to ask and…I shouldn’t of bothered you, I-“

     “When is it?” She asked.

     “It’s uh, wait let me check,” there was a pause and a shuffle of paper, “this…Thursday? It’s three to six in the evenin’.”

     “Sure, I’ve got nothing planned.” Which was true, she usually reserved Fridays for spending with Hope, but she hadn’t heard back from him since the previous week and her schedule was open.

     “Great! D’you know where the Arcadian Museum is?”

     “Yep, been there a few times on a trip with the kids.”

     “Well alright then. See you there, Vanille.”

     “See you there, Fang.” She smiled into her phone, hanging up.

     She supposed it was strange, to agree to meet someone that was practically a stranger in a last minute arrangement to see an exhibit. She didn’t even know what the showcase was before she had said she would go. Though had it been another person, Vanille didn’t think she would have complied so easily. She wasn’t _that_ desperate for an outing this week, after all. Yet an ethereal form of rightness hung about the whole affair, like the universe gave its approval and ushered her to make a decision. Fang had stayed in her mind since the night at the bar. The chance to see her again made her swell with warmth, a strange reaction to a stranger. This was definitely going to be an interesting week.

 

 


	3. Subtlety

(Fang and Vanille) Chapter 3: Subtlety

 

     The art of being subtle and delicate with issues is a hard skill to master, but if used correctly it can gain monumental benefits in almost any area. This art form comes with practice and dedication. It should, therefore, be noted that Fang is not an artist.

     “A display of crystals at a museum.” Lightning said, fringing on disbelief.

     “…Not the most creative idea, granted.”

     “Crystals.” She repeated.

     “Yeah. Crystals.”

     “ _Crystals._ ” echoing the word, Lightning raised a hand to her face and hid behind the self-imposed shield. Suffering vicarious embarrassment from Fang’s method of approaching the topic of jumpstarting Vanille’s memory with all the daintiness of a load of buckshot.

     “Wow, you have such a way with words, Light.” Fang blinked.

     Lightning rubbed her eyes, still reeling from her friend’s tactlessness.

     “You know what? Go for it. At this point, try all you can without running and carrying a banner, screaming your undying affections.”

     Fang paused for a moment too long before Lightning quickly retorted with, “ _Don’t even think about it.”_

     “Kidding! Even I’m not that stupid. But yeah, give it a try?”

     She nodded. “Yeah. Who knows, she might have a revelation.”

     “Thanks, Light.” She said seriously, “knew I could count on you.”

     “That’s what friends are for, right? Just don’t make a habit of it.”

 

* * *

 

     A bright white and green banner outside of the Arcadian Museum announced the event, **Ancient Beauty: Newly discovered crystals for a one day special! Tickets Limited. 3-6:00pm, Museum closed at 8:00pm.**

     A snicker caught in Fang’s throat at the plastic sign waving in the wind.

     “Funny?” Vanille asked, seeing the brunet bite her lip to quell the laugh.

     She took a deep breath and exhaled carefully, “I’ll tell you some other time.”

 _Other time?_ The phrase stuck in her mind, _what other time?_ Raising her shoulders in a carefree shrug, Vanille let the thought pass. Outside of the large, glass building was a small crowd of people trying to purchase tickets in a last minute attempt at entertainment for the evening. If they had been trying to get admission now, it would be a long and aggravating wait in line behind a mother with three screaming brats, several couples trying to find a cheap date, and a young woman with a pixie haircut that kept groaning dramatically as she waited her turn. Fang nudged Vanille’s arm with her elbow,

     “Glad we’re not going to be stuck with that lot.”

     “Yeah!”

     They were standing nearly shoulder to shoulder at the entrance, and Fang had the itch in her nerves to take her hand as they went inside. She focused her mind on _maybe today will be the day_ to distract herself as Vanille half-walked, half-skipped indoors. It was refreshing, comforting to see that little traits such as the way she joyously moved from place to place hadn’t been lost in the Rebirth. A sign inside pointed with a sharp arrow towards the exhibit, down a hallway that was adorned with pictures of those who funded the museum and their credentials. Fancy frames, portraits of older men with forced smiles and an expression that could be best described as constipated.

     “Hey, Vanille?”

     “Hm?”

     “You said you’d been here before with the ‘kids’? You didn’t mean-“

     “No!” She said quickly, blushing slightly. “No, no, no. I work at a daycare. We went on a trip here to look at some of the fossils for an outing. I don’t have kids. I might like to, some day. But that’s not happening any time soon.”

     “Ah.” Fang wanted to say, _I think you’d be a great mom._ But trying to maintain some appearance of not knowing her, she refrained.

     In addition to walking to the exhibit, that happened to be on the other side of the museum in an area that was devoted to temporary displays, they talked and Vanille felt like she had known her for ages. They got along swimmingly well, she was a social person naturally, but being around Fang clicked into place.

     “Say Fang, where do you work?”

     “Now don’t laugh. It’s this tiny, little joint in a shopping mall. Cheap as could be, decent location so I put up with being a few doors down from a Starbucks.”

     “What do you do?” Vanille asked, stopping a few paces ahead of her and swinging her hands.

     “I’m a teacher, of sorts. I teach self-defense classes for people who can’t afford one of those elaborate martial arts places. It’s not black belt or title worthy, it’s just how to keep yourself out of rough situations.”

     “That’s great! Sounds really useful. Is it a shady neighborhood?”

     “There’s a lot worse out there, but it’s not the best, yeah.”

     Presently, they emerged from another series of rooms into the main display area for the showcase of the day, a dazzling display of towering crystals that had been unearthed and were being shown for their interesting and unusual characteristics. A few early birds had already gotten there, standing around the display, observing the magnificent structures.

     The center of the room had the main attraction, an enormous triclinic crystal that had an opal like quality to it, as it showed a rainbow of milky colors when the lighting above it hit at the right angle. It almost reached the ceiling, shy of a few inches and it would have been through the panels. The material was an opaque, but not muddled, white with a blue tint that and generally resembled a quartz. However, unlike a normal, albeit bland quartz, this crystal set a tightness in Fang’s chest that refused to leave. Memories of days, months, _years_ crowded to the front of her brain at the sight of this immaculate pillar.

     While Vanille was drawn to it like a moth to flame, entranced and enthralled like the rest of the group, Fang hung back a safe distance. Appearing for all the world to be more interested in a smaller, amber tinted crystal with branching cubic shapes. The mineral wasn’t amber, or even that interesting. It just let her keep a safe distance from a haunting reminder, and a safe distance from her own emotions regarding the event. Soft chatter of onlookers proved an ample soundtrack to stave away the returning thoughts of the suffocating silence.

     “Jeez, that one’s impressive.” Vanille remarked, turning to see Fang clenching her fists and seeming unsettled. “Hey, you okay?”

     “What?” She snapped out of it, relaxing the muscles in her shoulders and scavenging for a fake sincerity, “Oh yeah. I’m fine. Just…off in my own world I suppose.”

     “Fang…”

     “Really, I’m alright. And that big one is pretty. Interesting colors in it.”

     Yet there was a hesitance to her reply, a feeling that she was anticipating something. The main cluster of people around the pillar moved on to see other attractions in the room, giving the two women plenty of space to observe the structure without being hemmed in by gawking onlookers. Fang cleared her throat and walked over with Vanille to it, scanning its surfaces and intricacies approvingly.

     “I’ve always admired crystals a bit, y’know. They grow in the most difficult of conditions and turn out stunning masterpieces.”

     “Not to mention that they are super tough, they can support a ton of weight and stress before they end up crumbling. They hold up quite a lot when you think about it. I wish I could be that tough.” Vanille said. She wasn’t sure why the words sprang from her mouth before she could help it. She felt uncomfortable when things escaped her before she reasoned with them. “Sorry. Not sure where that came from. The old brain’s just spitting stuff without thinking.”

     Fang’s heart skipped a beat, sputtering while she tried to keep a cool exterior.

     “Oh, have you seen the one over there?” Vanille pointed to a tetragon like shape, it was a brilliant clear, purple with deep red tones. The color would have been more understandable in an amethyst or garnet, but as a crystal it was very peculiar. Despite being caught off-guard by Vanille, this piece did interest her. It reminded her of a time when they, the whole crew, worked together with their eidolons against Bhunivelze, this crystal in particular had a similar color to her summoned beast. To call Bhunivelze God would be favoring the deity too much, might as well call him by his name to deprive him of the honor reserved for a respectable creator.

     “Huh, this one is neat. Did they say what it was called, or is it one of those thirteen syllable, alphabet soup nightmares?”

     Vanille let out a peal of laughter, covering her mouth in a hasty attempt to keep from furthering its flow. However, it didn’t really do much other than muffle it slightly. Fang gave her a friendly, curious nod.

     “Why do you cover your mouth when you laugh? You’ve got a cute smile.” _Shit. I shouldn’t have said cute._

     Thankfully, Vanille didn’t over analyze the compliment and lowered her hand.

     “I’ve been told I’m _too_ cheerful for some people. So I try to keep it under wraps if I can.”

     “Psh,” Fang waved her hand, dismissive of the idea. “If they can’t handle it, it’s their problem, not yours. Don’t change just because people are a bunch of nitwits,” The few of the crowd nearest to Fang shot her a dirty look, “people will always be nitwits.”

     “I guess you’re right. Do you think I’m too, I don’t know, upbeat _?_ ” She asked, a nervous edge creeping into her voice. Fang frowned instinctively, she hated it when Vanille thought herself an annoyance to others because of how she was. Is _._

     “Not at all. You should see one of my friends, she’s got a face like stone. It’s nice to get a change now and again.”

     “I know the feeling,” Vanille nodded in agreement, “My friend Hope is pretty similar. Serious and a bit of a stick-in-the-mud on occasion.”

     Luckily for Fang, her friend’s attention span was remarkably short, and Vanille took off to read the sign next to another crystal on the other side of the room. Otherwise, she would have seen the shock stamped plainly on her face. The surprise soon gave way to pleasant disbelief as her features softened. First, Hope was alive. She had thought as much, but no one knew for sure. Light would be thrilled. Also, Vanille _had_ found another person to talk to, to be friends with. She wasn’t as alone as Fang had feared. To think of Vanille growing up by herself, in a new world, without a single person to talk to, was too much. She followed the spunky woman to the next showcased crystal, this one a blue hue. Then to the next one, a faded greenish yellow, and then the next, and so on.

     They were both enjoying themselves, forgetting that there were other bystanders ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the natural architecture. The world seemed far away when they were together, Vanille felt more at home than she ever had before. Feeling at home with a person and not a place was as new sensation, one that she hadn’t realized was missing. To be able to relax, be herself, and not be ashamed of laughing too much or smiling too widely, was nice. The peculiarity of the fact that this near stranger evoked such a response was forcibly shoved away by how much it just felt _right._ After they had seen each crystalline wonder, revisiting the curious purple one another time, an empty bench at the far side of the room facing the window beckoned them.

     Fang sat down with a light sigh, resting her hands on her knees and playing with the fabric folded under them. Both she and Vanille were having a blast, when not speaking about the displays (or the people observing the displays) they found the silky stream of conversation flowing easily. Small talk fluttering into quick stories and anecdotes, before the unavoidable subject arose that Fang had not been looking forward to.

     “So!” Vanille started, leaning back on her hands and crossing her feet at the ankles. “I’ve got to ask, are you seeing anybody?”

     Fang bit her lip thoughtfully, trying to tackle answering this question. Should she outright say ‘ _Yeah, you’_ or would it be better to feign being single, so she wouldn’t betray her emotions as easily? She decided on the latter.

     “Nah, not really. How ‘bout you?” A sudden panic crossed her mind, what if Vanille was dating someone else? Her heart wrenched at the thought.

     Her orange-pink hair swayed as she shook her head. “Nope.”

     Fang was relieved. But at the same instance, she hadn’t expected it to hurt so much to hear it come from her.

     “Not from lack of offers, either. It’s just…my heart’s not in it. They’ve been nice guys, friends, schoolmates. I felt bad turning them down, but it’s not for me. Know what I mean?”

     “Same here.” _Not at all._

     “And of course, there’s been a fair share of Tanners.”

     “Some folks just can’t take a hint.”

     “I think that shoving them in the chest is a little more than a hint _._ ” Vanille giggled, hand rising in impulse to cover her mouth, then slowly lowering.

     “Ah, he had it coming. Some types only learn through firsthand experiences. Often at the end of another person’s hand.”

     “Mmm.” She let out a sound of agreement, attention jumping to the world beyond the window.

     Fang was watching her, eyes smiling and crinkling at the corners. It had been so long since they had the chance to just… _have fun._ When they weren’t fighting, running, saving the world, they were busy in their village. Before that, they were busy with family. Precious moments of being together without the dread of turning into a beast or pillar. Warmth was spreading internally, eliminating the tightness from the memories of crystal in a wash. Vanille always seemed like bubbles of light, glistening up in the darkest of moments, bringing an unbeatable optimism to any situation regardless of how dismal or hopeless it looked.

     The affectionate gaze was not missed and feeling as though someone was watching her, Vanille turned back to her companion. Smiling, she glanced around, confused.

     “Why are you looking at me like that?”

     Oh. She noticed. Fang turned a shade darker, trying to cover her reasoning.

     “I was just curious about your necklace.” She pointed to the bronze coin with two crescent shaped marks and a line through them on the front side. It was suspended by a leather cord and hung around her neck loosely. “I know I’ve seen it before but I can’t recall where for the life of me.”

     “This?” Vanille lifted the pendent, turning it over and over in her hand. “It’s the sign for a Pisces. That’s my sign, I found the coin at a booth when Hope and I went to a fair. He doesn’t really believe in astrology, thinks it’s all a bunch of nonsense, but I like it. It’s fun."

     “I’ve always been bad at remembering the symbols.” Fang said, glad to have smoothed over the awkwardness so easily.

     “What’s yours?”

     “Hm? D’you mean my sign or my necklace? Would think the second is kinda self-explanatory.” Motioning to the jade carving of an animal fang on a silver chain.

     “Your sign, silly!”

     She grinned, appearing embarrassed, and ran a hand through her hair,

     “I’m not really fond of mine. I’m a Scorpio. The whole ‘tall, dark, and mysterious’ card seems too played out to me. “

     “But there’s so much more to Scorpios than that! They’re also passionate, enigmatic, and are fiercely protective of those they love.”

     Fang was impressed. “That sounds closer to me. I’m still lacking the whole, pincers, and venomous tail thing.”

     Vanille answered by ramming her with her shoulder, goofing around like old friends. They both enjoyed a few minutes of pleasant, fond silence. However, it was leading Fang down a well-trod path. Repeating thoughts of _this won’t last, she doesn’t remember, she’ll never remember, you’re going to lose her again-_

     “We should do this again sometime.” Vanille quipped quietly. Attention returning to the woman seated next to her. If Fang was descending into a dark state of mind, it was hard to detect. She nodded in agreement, posture almost matching her expression.

     “Definitely. You’ve got my number now, call me, we can try to work another outing into our schedule.”

     “Yep! I haven’t had this much fun in ages.”

     “I know the feeling. Life keeps you busy.” 

     Vanille looked at her phone to check the time. As she removed it from her purse, it amused Fang greatly when the decorative case she had turned out to be light pink leopard print. Somehow, it just seemed to fit her personality so well, that she covered a snicker with a cough. The phone clicked on, showing in bold white letters, 7:39pm.

     “Oh my goodness, is it that time already?” she looked around the room, now empty with the normal participants having left at the assigned time. They had overlooked the couple sitting on the bench and chatting. The crystals were strangely ominous now that lights were dimming to a conservative low for the evening.

     “Crap, it’s late? I didn’t even notice. Sorry to keep you out.”

     “No, no. It’s just as much my fault as it is yours. Time flies when you’re having fun. Think we’ll get in trouble?”

     “For what? Enjoying the exhibit? I doubt it.”

     “All the same, I think we should get going.” Vanille picked at a corner of the shoulder bag, removing a loose thread.

     “Guess you’re right. Probably for the best.” Her arms were crossed loosely in front of her body, hanging on to the elbows with a few fingers.

     She traced a raised, smooth scar on the back of her arm. It was one of the few new scars she had earned since the Rebirth. It’d been from being an idiot and thinking that she could manage a piece of rusted rebar that stuck out from the wall of the complex. Fang was strong but getting used to human strength and not the unbridled fury of a l’cie came as a surprise. She wanted to tell Vanille who she was, why she didn’t want to leave, there was so much to tell her and show her. The fading gash that marred her arm reminded her, _think then act or there’ll be scars._ They weren’t l’cie. This wasn’t Gran Pulse. She could not act the way her muscles and brain wanted her to.

     “Can you get home alright, Vanille?” Fang’s voice held a strain of concern.

     “Again with the question? What are you, my mom?” She said, “Don’t worry so much.”

 _How can I?_ “Sorry.”

     “I can get home fine. Can _you_ get home alright, Miss Fang?” She rose from the bench, placing her hands on her hips childishly, and making a caricature of seriousness, a false frown dominating her features.

     Fang deadpanned and said with a monotone, “I’m certain to get carried off by riffraff, Miss Vanille. Whatever is a poor girl to do?” It lasted for a brief, four seconds before they both caved in to a bout of debilitating laughter.

     If Vanille had been concerned about getting in trouble before, now that hoots and bursts of near hysterical shrieking was coming from the ‘closed’ exhibit, the security now had a reason to. The two women were quickly and cautiously removed from the museum, told they were being extremely disruptive, that they should act their age, and were not to return unless they could behave themselves like adults. Once they were outside of the building, in a familiar scenario, they parted ways with the promise to hang out later, and each woman left equally excited for the next opportunity to see the other.

     It was after Fang got home that she realized how long it had been since she had really laughed. The delectable drug of happiness stayed in her system for the rest of the evening, though with dawn it had fled. Vanille had not remembered.

     It was after Vanille got home that she realized her phone had a voicemail left on it. When she had checked the time when they were at the museum, she had failed to acknowledge the tiny green icon signaling that there was a message. The call had been from Hope Estheim. Warning bells chimed like sirens, Hope never called. In the years they had known each other, he had only texted or spoken in person. He had this strange intense disliking of talking over the phone, or talking through Skype, that she didn’t exactly understand. For him to dial the phone and actually call, came as a worrisome situation. She listened to the message as she stepped through the threshold of her apartment, heart sinking with each word that came over the speaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If there are a few typos please forgive me, this is the love child of 3:30am insomnia and a stiff drink.


	4. Afterclap

(Fang and Vanille) Chapter 4: Afterclap

9:31pm

**1 unheard message. To hear message, press 5.**

“Hey, Vanille, it’s Hope. Sorry that I haven’t kept in touch for a while, I’ve just… I’ve had my hands full. Things took a turn for the worse with mom and… she…”

“Yeah. I was calling to let you know. But, um, listen. Before sh-she-“There was half a sigh that caught before he could be heard clearing his throat loudly. “Mom said something that didn’t sit right with me. I asked her if there was anything I could do and she said, ‘I’m okay, moms are tough, right?’ and it just won’t leave my head. Vanille, I’m starting to feel like I’m going crazy, or something. Like there’s it’s staring me in the face and I’m missing it. I don’t know. It’s probably just stress and grief. Having to deal with this is still so…new. It still feels surreal.”

“Call me later, okay?”

“Alright, talk to you then. Bye.”

 

**End of message. To repeat, press 6. To delete press 7. For all other-**

 

     Vanille chewed at the edge of her nail, gnawing away at the side and cuticle. The phone continued to ring, once, twice, three times. Anxious, she removed the hand from her mouth and flailed it wildly in dismay, _Hope, come on! pick up. Pick up, pick up, pick up. Pick UP!_ After a grand total of nine rings, the receiver clicked to signify that there was indeed, a live person on the other side of the wire.

     “Hope. I got your voicemail and…” she paused, throat constricting as she squeaked out, “oh my god. I don’t even know what to say.”

     “That makes two of us.” He replied, voice sounding rough and hoarse, it was clear that he had been crying.

     “Can I help with something? Anything? I can come over right now!” Vanille practically yelled.

     “That’s not necessary. I’ll be okay. Just…talk to me. About anything, I don’t care.” Hope sighed, “How was your day?”

     “My day was interesting. I went to a museum exhibit with a, “ She hesitated, wondering which word to use, she chose the closest term, “friend. She had gotten an extra ticket and no one else was up for going.”

     “The Arcadian Museum?”

     “Uh-huh. They had a one day special going on and- listen Hope- are you _sure_ I don’t need to come over? Really, I don’t care that it’s kinda late.” Her voice nearly a whine.

     A short bark of laughter came over the phone, “Vanille, I appreciate it. I do. But I don’t need to be babysat. Go on, tell me about the museum, it’s keeping my mind off of…this.”

     “Alright, alright. It was a display of crystals that they’d recently found, or uncovered, or something. There was this one that was huge, it had such pretty colors. It looked boring until you got up to it, when the light hit it, it was breathtaking. There were some other ones that were less interesting, small blocky little things. Oh, except for this weird purple-reddish looking one. It caught my eye from across the room, Fang really-“

     “Wait…who?’ He asked, confused.

     “The friend who had the extra ticket. Helped me out of a bit of a pickle at Serendipity.”

     “Please tell me it wasn’t the day that I had to cancel.” Hope groaned.

     “…I have to fill you in on the whole Tanner event don’t I?”

     “I always miss the amusing events it seems.”

     “Not so much amusing as irritating.” Vanille huffed, “long story short, there was this guy at Serendipity trying to get me to go home with him and he didn’t take no for an answer.”

     “Oh god, are you okay?” The tired amusement drained out of his voice and was quickly replaced with concern.

     “I’m fine. Now who’s the worrywart? Fang pretty much scared the crap out of him and he took off with his tail between his legs.”

     “At least there was someone who helped you out.”

     “I don’t blame Tanner for chickening out, she probably could have broken him into two pieces. Fang’s got a bit of a rough and tumble look to her.”

     “With a name like Fang, it doesn’t come as a surprise… Huh. _That’s…weird_.”

     “What’s up?” Vanille asked, trying not to sound troubled. The change in tone that his last few words had bothered her.

     “It’s just…it’s nothing. The sleep meds are finally kicking in, making me feel foggy headed. I’m going to try and get some sleep. Thanks,” he said in a softer voice, “for distracting me. I needed it. If you would, please don’t tell people just yet. I don’t think I can stand twenty thousand well-meaning calls offering condolences. I may just turn my phone off. ”

     “Of course. If you need anything, Hope. Text me. I don’t care if it’s four in the morning and you want to go get ice cream, or something! Just text me.”

     “Right. Night, Vanille.”

     “Night, Hope.”

     The call ended. As much as hearing from Hope had calmed her worries, his pitch shift when she brought up Fang… what was that about? Maybe he knew her, Hope’s job brings him into contact with a lot of people. But then again, he probably would have mentioned it if he had. Vanille had a burdening feeling that it was not solely sleeping medication that made him act so weird. Something about Fang?

     She had been told growing up, that she was optimistic, cheerful, naïve on occasion. For all the applicable phrases that could be used for Vanille, _stupid_ was not one of them. While Hope had every reason to be in distress, there is a wide difference between grieving and being startled into hanging up, and he seemed to be the latter of the two when Fang was mentioned. An idea formed like the beginnings of a blister, Fang had been at the bar conveniently when she needed someone there. Fang offered her something to do when she was growing concerned about Hope. Why did she seem to practically know what Vanille would say, would do, before even _she_ knew? Vanille didn’t want to think poorly of her, as she now considered her a friend, but it was terribly coincidental that she would turn up at the right place in the right time.

     Could she have been…stalking her? _No_ , Vanille thought to herself, _that’s_ _ridiculous_. _Just being silly._ Fang didn’t seem to be the looming type that lurks around corners. But there was a part of her that was undeniably familiar, not her appearance completely, but her general presence and feeling. Her heart started racing at the thought that she had a stalker, one who had her phone number. The confusion on how Fang made her feel caused her jumped to conclusions, glad to have a tangible idea of what it could be, even if in the back of it all she knew it was a wrong assumption. To be able to label it, felt empowering.            

     Flipping the switch to the ceiling lamp on, she went into her bedroom with a sigh. It’s always something.

 

* * *

 

     “How did it go?” Lightning had asked. When she received sharp exhale from Fang instead of a joyful screech of victory, the answer became apparent. Yesterday Fang had a less than sophisticated attempt at prompting memories from Vanille. No luck.

     “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

     “Considering the fact that you’re not celebrating, I already know the bad news. What’s the good news?”

     “Get ready for this… Hope’s her friend. They found each other.”

     At the name of one other lost member of the group, her eyes lit up with warmth and happiness, the reserved manner melting into an optimistic form. She tried to downplay her excitement, her relief by replying with, “Good.” But the word came out a little too quickly and she fumbled on it. To an onlooker, it could be a mere slip of the tongue from hurried thought patterns. For Fang, it was the equivalent of Lightning skipping around the room or leaping and clapping her hands. It probably would have been best for Fang to pretend that the stumble hadn’t occurred, but rare moments to poke fun at the serious Lightning Farron did not happen very frequently, and she took full advantage of them when they did.

     Slowly raising both eyebrows in bemused incredulity, Fang gave the now abashed Lightning a pointed look.

     “Yes. It is,” She paused theatrically, “ _good._ ”

     “Shut it.”

     “ _Good._ ”

     “You’re an ass.”

     “That’s certainly not _good._ ”

     “Are you done?”

     Fang lifted her hands, raising them in a show of surrender. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m… _good_.” Lightning turned away, muttering something about a ‘well placed Firaga’.

     Satisfied with the damage, she crossed her arms behind her head and scoffed.

     “All joking aside, it’s a relief to know the kid’s alright. Still don’t have a clue about what I’m going to do with Vanille, on the other hand.”

     Glad to have the topic off of her, Lightning shrugged. Adding the same advice she’d previously given. Wait, hope, pray, but don’t spend the rest of your days obsessing over it. Fang agreed, but her mind was certain, all this ‘wish for the best’ crap was a waste of words, air, and time. The Vanille she knew was in there, right below the surface. There had to be some way to spark her memory, although granted, she was out of ideas at this point. Time is a strange beast, the trouble before was that it was running out, the trouble now was that there was nothing to do but wait.

 

* * *

 

     The next few days went uneventfully. Alexi was at home, ill with a seasonal virus that though not dangerous, is extremely nasty.  The remaining kids were the calm ones, reading, playing with toys, napping. Vanille tried to not think about Fang. She decided to skip Serendipity this week, Hope hadn’t called but she suspected he had his own affairs to attend to.

     The weekend brought a small moment of excitement. Her horoscope told her that meaningful changes in relationships were expected through the cycle of the moon, for the next few months. It also said that ignoring it wouldn’t fix the underlying problem. Unable to help herself, Vanille paused as she was about to click the online compatibility charts between Scorpio and Pisces. Frowning, she closed the tab and turned off the laptop.

     On Monday, nothing happened. She wondered what the chart would have said. Vanille tried to not think about Fang. It rained nearly all day. Maybe it was the grey skies and distant rumbling of thunder that echoed like melancholy laughter, but the rain always made her feel sad. Hope wasn’t returning calls or messages. Vanille wondered what had happened and if he was okay. She saw Fang in her contacts list and toyed with the possibility of making an arrangement to see her. She hadn’t called or messaged either, that didn’t _seem_ like stalker behavior. Her attention was drawn away as the power flickered after a particularly loud bolt of lightning that shook the windows.

     Some other time then.

     Before she knew it, it was Friday again. Serendipity seemed the same as usual. Tanner was nowhere to be seen, thankfully. Fang wasn’t there either, neither was Hope. She drank her daiquiri, sipping it in silence. Vanille went immediately home, checking the compatibility chart that she had bookmarked for another time.

     Feeling a toxic mixture of apprehension and excitement, she called Fang. Her dislike of confrontation matching her curiosity. The conversation went something along the lines of:

     “Hey, Fang. I think… we need to talk. Are you busy?”

_“Er, not really. Talk away.”_

     “I mean in person.”

_“Oh, um, okay. I've got company at the moment but you’re more than welcome to join us. Or we can meet up somewhere.”_

     She considered it. If Fang really was being the creepy stalker type, surely meeting in a public area would be best. But if she was mistaken… Vanille hated that she entertained the possibility still that Fang could be that type of person, but what else could it be? She had to know.

     “I guess that works. ”

_“Great! I’ll give you the address. It’s…”_

 

* * *

 

     After Fang had hung up, she stared at her phone for a few seconds. There was a delayed explosion of ecstatic enthusiasm.

     “FUCKIN’ FINALLY! OH THANK GOD, YES.” She whooped loudly.  

     Remembered. She remembered. It took a bit more than a week after everything and oh thank _god_ she finally remembered. Fang felt like she rediscovered how to breathe and each breath was sweeter, the lungs singing in silent jubilation as the sensation of living was infinitely better. She would be with Vanille and Vanille would be with her. She wouldn’t wake to a vacant bed. Lightheaded with joy, she allowed herself to say ‘forget cynicism’ and drink in the realization that things were going to be okay again.

     “What, did you win the lottery or something?”

     "I don’t even care, snark away, old man.” Fang all but danced into her living room, grinning broadly at the two figures seated on the couch. Sazh and Lightning had been catching up since Serah’s wedding. From what she had gathered, all was well with the Katzroy’s. Dahj was in school, simultaneously impressing and infuriating his teacher with good grades but a resounding habit of falling asleep if the lecture wasn’t interesting or related to animals. Sazh himself was working as a mechanic.

     Lightning started, eyes widening as it hit her suddenly, “You’re serious?”

     “As a heart attack!”

     With his arms draped across the back of the sofa, Sazh gestured helplessly, “Would someone _please_ tell me what in the hell is going on? What’s got you so worked up?”

     Answering for her friend who was lost in her own glee, Lightning smirked. “What do you think?”

     “You’re joking. That dumb crystal idea of yours worked?”

     “It’s not dumb if it worked, now is it?”

     “Well I’ll be damned. The gang is all comin' together at last."

 

* * *

 

     The surroundings of the apartment did nothing to ease her sense of unease that fringed every movement. It was a foolish image that Vanille fabricated, one that she was a stalker, waiting to waylay her from the shadows, but fear heightens the imagination something wicked. A handrail leading up to the second floor of the apartment had a crumbly red, rust coating that matched the coloring of the brick in mocking perfection. A slurred yell from the third floor caused her to flinch in surprise, the supposed support for the stairs wobbled as her grip on it tightened. Not the most reassuring feeling in the world.

     Had she not been on edge, Vanille might have noticed with a touch of humor that the apartment complex was exactly what she expected from Fang. However, humor was abandoned in the stead of apprehension and regret. Coming here was a bad idea, she should have met someplace neutral –or at least- somewhere that didn’t look blatantly degenerate and shady.

     It was with utmost reluctance that she quietly knocked at the door, standing as proudly as she could before the glass peephole. If she was going to confront her stalker, it was best to do it with confidence, after all. Though as Vanille tapped the dusty metal surface, her thoughts raced at a breakneck pace.

_-What am I even doing, this is stupid, this is dangerous, why am I doing this, I shouldn't have come here, stupid, stupid-_

     The door opened without a sound. Fang was leaning against the door frame, a triumphant grin plastered on her face. To Vanille, it seemed a predator's leer, a toothy grimace from a shark.

     "Vanille." She said simply, as if waiting for a hidden signal to pounce.

     "Fang." replied Vanille, her mouth in a firm line of no-nonsense intent. Serious, she held herself with an aura of wariness, sternly folded arms acting as a form of protection in front of her.

     Gazing at her levelly, Fang's smile dropped from her face in a matter of seconds. Something was wrong.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for strange formatting, I hit a wall and couldn't figure out how to get it to read better other than breaking it into chunks.


	5. Crescendo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all,  
> First, let me apologize for the delay. Classes have started again so I'm way behind on writing. Second, I'll warn that this chapter is a bit stressful (another reason why it took me so bloody long, I'm a loser when it comes to stress, I clam up). Finally, it may be a good while before the next chapter for the above two reasons. I hope if lectures have started for you all as well that they go smoothly!  
> -Love, Goatfish.

(Fang and Vanille) Chapter 5: Crescendo

 

 

     “So, Vanille what’s… up?” Fang asked, taking deliberate care to keep the mood casual.

     “That’s what I want to know.” The reply was surprisingly bland, given Vanille’s defensive stance.

     Her eyes shifted uneasily towards the inside of the apartment before returning to the woman in the doorway. An urge to relax in her presence fought tooth and claw against the warning chimes clanging in the logical portion of the mind. She refused to be taken for a fool.

     Clearing her throat, Vanille said, “Would you mind stepping out here for a moment? I know you have company, but… I’d like, to speak with you alone.”

     “Um, sure. Alright.” Tossing a glance over her shoulder, Fang closed the door behind her with a click.

     A nervous feeling, like that of leaning a chair too far back and feeling the legs wobble unsteadily under one’s weight, trickled into Fang’s mind. Vanille had become aware of the change and thought that uncertainty and apprehension did not suit her, not at all. It disconcerted her. It seemed out of place and wrong. Then again, this entire scenario seemed undeniably wrong.

     However, Vanille assured herself that she must be imagining things, because obviously she shouldn’t be feeling sorry for someone who may well be stalking her! Reprimanding her own softness, Vanille set her teeth and drew herself up with all the denunciation and conviction that could be gathered.

     “What is your deal? Seriously. What are you playing at here, Fang?” She said sharply, encouraged when the brunette gaped at her, wordless.

     “I…”

     Vanille continued, taking a step towards her. “I mean it. Why did even mentioning you to Hope spook him? Why do you act like you know me? Like you’ve known me all my life or something. You practically know what I’m going to say before I even say it! Tell me!” Her voice had raised unintentionally, fueled by indignant aggravation. “Tell me, Fang!”

     Coherent thought processes abandoned her, in their stead an incapacitating feeling of helplessness. The world had been cruelly yanked from beneath her feet, crumbling as a house of cards around her. Here Vanille was, beautiful as always, standing and meeting her gaze with hurt and confusion, and most painfully _contempt_. Such a dark feeling should never scour the lights and rivers of her gentle eyes. And for it to be directed at her… it robbed Fang of all defenses and words. They had arguments in the past that resolved with time. They had points of disagreement and conflict that still stung when mentioned, but never, _never_ in the years and ages spent together was such a staggering implication of disdain presented. She would have preferred a physical blow, a spell, something that she could handle- but this, this-

     Luck must be one sadistic woman, for as the internal rising of unease rose like an infernal orchestra within Vanille, the Lady found it humorous to interfere.

     The door opened behind Fang and a cheery face peaked its head around the corner.

     “Late to the party _and_ fighting? We missed you too, kiddo! Get in here and join the circus, Vanille.” Sazh smiled warmly.

     Already harried by the feeling of disquietude, the primal needles of ‘Fight or Flight’ dug deeply into her limbs. What fragile trust she had put in the hope that Fang wasn’t creepy or of ill intent ruptured. She turned around and walked down the flimsy steps, each movement hastened by the swell of just how _wrong_ this entire situation seemed. She told herself it was due to fear, to panic, to the threat of danger. Yes. Of course. That had to be it.

     Vanille was leaving. She was leaving.

     She was down the stairs when the single thought in her mind solidified enough to be perceived.

_After her._

     “V-Vanille!” Fang remained on the landing, the shape of Vanille continued on towards the street, walking briskly down the narrow driveway.

 _Go after her_.

     “V-“

     Casting Sazh a warning glance, she muttered under her breath, “Fuck.” And set off in a rush down the stairs, hustling down them as quickly as possible without falling. When she arrived at the bottom, Vanille had just about reached the street itself. Her line of direction was a car parked a short distance away, against the curb with the vehicles from the tenants that shared Fang’s complex. The residents had discovered that if everyone tried to park in the driveway at the same time, it was a complete clustered mess, so they abandoned it for parking at the curb.

     Not quite a jog and not quite walking, but moving quickly away from the complex, Vanille ignored the shout of her name behind her. Fists clenched at her sides kept them from trembling. She was angry. Why was she angry? At first, she had assumed that she was incensed at Fang for trying to be her ‘friend’. Yet that… didn’t seem right. Vanille’s thoughts were clouded, hazy and did not help to clarify the feeling. Even her limbs refused to cooperate with her entirely, as by all means, she should be running as fast as she could, but they felt strangely reluctant and leaden. Obstinate, stubborn things that behaved like an unruly child. They belonged to _her,_ they were physically a part of _her_ , so why were they set to act of their own accord and purposefully slowing her down? This did nothing to help her anger that bit at her throat.

     Perhaps she was angry at herself, for allowing to be played right into her hands. She should have known better than to be enamored by a charismatic bravado and a false sense of familiarity. God, how could she have been such an _idiot_.

     “Vanille!” Fang called again, sounding closer than before.

     She ignored her, icily. Intent solely on getting into her car, driving home, and hoping on the off chance that Hope had turned his phone back on so she could vent to someone, anyone, about this.

     “Vanille, wait!”

_Can’t you go any faster, you useless limbs? Come on-_

     “Wait, _please!_ ” Fang cried. It was visceral and desperate, entreating. It struck a chord somewhere, and maybe it was that she genuinely disliked seeing and hearing anyone in pain, but she stopped fumbling with her keys for a moment. The keys clinked against themselves, a bright metallic sound. Footsteps followed shortly thereafter, gradually getting closer, not in a run as she would have expected but a hesitant walk. Uneven steps and rhythm of a person not sure what they should do.

     Fang approached, entirely unprepared on what she was going to do, or say. One wrong move, and Vanille would bolt like a startled hare, there would be no more chances of redemption. She could not afford to lose her. Not now, not when they had been so close to the tantalizing shores of normality. The brunette prided herself in being able to take whatever charged at her, whether that was fighting impossible beings, organizing a patchwork band of miscreants, or taking care of business that others would prefer not to dirty their hands with. But this was new ground, freshly unearthed territory that all the quick witted prowess she possessed could not touch.

     There was a time limit to the matter as well, if Fang hesitated for too long she would appear to be lying or making up a story. If she told the truth, honestly and bluntly then her words would be warped and lost for the sheer ridiculousness of the events that had taken place. A single option reared its head, though she feared that it would not satisfy either party. To elaborate without striking major points and effectively obscuring the details while addressing the overview. Fang had a single chance at this. Should she fail…

     “I can explain. Please, just hear me out.”

     Vanille did not respond, looking down through the closed window of her car and watching as the reflection of Fang appeared next to her.

     “Vanille, please.”

     “Then start. Start talking.”

 

* * *

 

     “This is going to sound a little… weird. But I mean what I say, okay? All of it.”

     “I’m listening.” She turned to face Fang, expression unreadable.

     “You… remind me of someone. Someone I used to know a long, long time ago. We stuck together for most of our lives and were inseparable. Even when all hell broke loose, as long as we were still in one piece, everything was fine. We could handle it together. But things changed. Catastrophically, changed. We still made it through… I thought. It wasn’t until later that I realized anything was wrong. It couldn’t be fixed, I…” she paused, “I… couldn’t fix it. I would have tried everything, hell, I _did_ try everything. In the end, it was all the same. What we used to be vanished. I’ve been graspin’ at straws trying to hold on to what was left. She meant the world to me, y’know?  
She still does.”

     Vanille was silent for a long and ponderous moment. Long enough to where Fang feared that she had done more damage than good with confessing the truth. She opened her mouth, any normal statement snatched from speech. That was quite an explanation.

     “I don’t know who… I remind you of.” Vanille said slowly, working out each syllable with caution. “But I’m not her. Fang. I’m not.”

     That was it then.

     It was done.

     A lump nestled itself deeply into her throat, a blockade to stop the things she wanted to say, to yell, to scream at her. She wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her hands went numb, to fall to her knees and bellow ‘YOU KNOW ME, I KNOW YOU DO! Remember what we did together, remember who we used to be! You _are_ her, for fuck’s sake! You’re _everything_.’ Fang felt hollowed, as if someone had scraped the élan vital, whatever meager potential for positivity that remained, from her with jagged, dirty fingernails. _Empty_. Cored and shredded to a viscous bloodied pulp, sure that her body would collapse from it at any moment.

     Air pulled around the knot in her vocals, letting out a constricted breath that was formed roughly in the shape of the word, “…Right.”

     The sky did not even have the decency to be overcast and miserly, with its brilliant pinpricks of stars now appearing in the dimming heavens. Descending further into spring made the light stay just a little longer, enough to drown and postpone the debut of constellations but not enough to properly frame the landscape. Outside of the current situation, it would have been a beautiful evening, but as it stood, the stars rousing themselves in sleepy majesty were a mockery. Fang noted this as she surveyed the upper vaults, a futile try to keep the pressure building behind her eyes from overflowing. Even for having been on this new planet for a decent span of time, the arrangements of the stars were unfamiliar and twinkled distantly, coldly. _This_ wasn’t home.

     “But...God knows why I’m even saying this, but I-I like you. This in no way, shape, or form means that I’m not still incredibly pissed at you for being so cryptic and for stalking me. _But_ ,” Vanille said, sounding more confident than she felt, “If you can stop treating me like a bloody ghost or something, then I’d like… to be friends. Stop treating me like someone else for once and start treating me like _me_ , Fang.”

     That same, strange, disruptive feeling niggled at the back of Vanille’s mind. She didn’t know why she felt the need to, not defend, but clarify and acknowledge Fang’s actions. The wish that their friendship wouldn’t end here, if Fang could get over whatever previous ties were holding her back and causing her to be downright unsettling. What would happen if she said no and refused? Would she continue stalking her because she was a living memento of some relationship in the past? Vanille doubted it, though, if that was the case, she’d file enough restraining orders to fill a shelf. Or would she fade out of her life, a passing character into the haze of another name and face? The prospect of the latter was unreasonably terrifying.

     “So what are you going to do?”

     Floating in her mind was the same question. _What are you going to do? What are you going to do now, Fang?_

     A tortured silence bounced between the two of them. It was cracked as Vanille released a leaden sigh and opened the car door, avoiding eye contact. She was going home.

     “…okay.” When the word was uttered, Vanille almost did not catch it in time, thinking she had heard what she _wanted_ and not what was actually said.

     “What?” She asked.

     “I said, ‘okay’. If…If that’s what it takes, then okay. You want me to forget about all of that? To pretend that we’ve never met? To start from the ground up again? Then I will. Just please don’t…go.”

 _Fragile_. That was the term that drifted into Vanille’s thoughts regarding the behavior and pitch Fang showed. As if she were offering her essence for Vanille to scrutinize with cupped and shaking hands.

     “Then sure.” She said easily, the confirmation practically bounding out before she was aware that she had thought it at all.

 


	6. Ouroboros Goals Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, I've been having trouble getting back into the writing swing for this story. So it may be a little rough around the edges. The next couple of chapters should hopefully take less time. Again, sorry for the wait! On a different note, here in a chapter or two, the story is going to switch perspectives and start on Hope and Noel's line. Just as a heads-up.  
> -Goatfish.

 

(Fang and Vanille) Chapter 6: Ouroboros Goals Pt. 1

 

 

     “First things first though. I have got to introduce you properly to my friends, that’s no way to start things, is it?”

     “Look, technically I barely know you. But going back up to a dinky little apartment full of people I don’t really know is not high on my list, Fang. Plus, how do they know me?”

     “Hey, the place isn’t that ‘dinky’.” Fang said, defensive. “I may or may not have told them about you. But before you give me that look-“she added hastily, as Vanille prepared a stern frown, “-it’s really only because they asked about the visit to the museum. They knew I was going with someone.”

     “Uh huh.”

     “It’s the truth.” _Well most of it._

     She raised her hands in defeat when Vanille blinked pointedly slow. “If you don’t want to go up and say hi to the gang, it can wait until another time. ‘kay? Not going to make you do something you ain’t comfortable with.”

     Smiling thinly, Vanille nodded. “Appreciate it.”

     Night had descended upon the area fully, as streetlight blinked on, causing a splash of light to appear on the ground. It seemed as if the tension that had been building gave a collective sigh of relief and stilled itself. The air, the sky, and the pavement below felt tranquil again, like it should.

     “Since you’re hopefully _not_ going to call the cops on me,” Fang began, making a valiant attempt at treading back into informal territory, “and since I’ve got a gang of hooligans holed up in a ‘dinky’ apartment, am I permitted to go and check on them, Miss Vanille?”

     “Only if I’m permitted to go home without you keeping tabs on me and stalking from the shadows, Miss Fang.” She said coolly, but lacking the edge of accusation.

     “You drive a hard bargain. Permission granted.”

     “Granted.”

 

* * *

 

From Fang: _“Hey, you doing anything this weekend? If I’m allowed to ask without being a creep.”_

Sent: _“_ Nothing planned. why?”

From Fang: _“Want to go out and do something? I’ve been stuck in my freaking house after work, it’s getting old.”_

Sent: “What do you want to do?”

From Fang: _“Anything besides twiddling my thumbs.”_

From Fang: _“There’s a movie on at 5:15, wanna catch that one?”_

Sent: “What movie is it? :o”

From Fang: _“Some action fantasy flick.”_

Sent: “Oooooo sure count me in!!”

From Fang: _“Seriously? You like that kind of movie too?”_

Sent: “Stop fiddling and get us those tickets!!!”

 

* * *

 

     Fang had spoken truthfully, it was a small location, located next door to an overpriced coffee place, where many trudged to get their desired amount of caffeine allowing them to qualify as ‘living’. Traffic outside of the venue rushed by in an almost consistent burst of car horns, tire screeches, and the intermittent yells of frustrated drivers. Her studio, if it could be called that, was in the heart of the city so elaborate names and titles were not required to draw in the attention of others. It was titled plainly, **The Sentinel**.

    The shopping mall had a few other stores in it, one was the aforementioned Starbucks. Another was a Chinese restaurant that boasted a special of a free two-liter bottle of soda with each family meal. Fang stopped in every once in a while to eat there, as cooking was neither her best trait nor her most favored. The family that owned the place was always happy to see her and her ravenous appetite. To the direct left of the Flying Stork Restaurant, a combined laundry mat and DVD rental store took refuge. Granted, from her experience, Fang couldn’t guarantee the quality of the services from either store, but for the most part they had a decent range of movies, if only because they were obsolete ‘straight to DVD’ titles that no one had ever heard of before. Besides those two, there was a barber shop, a shady ‘loans’ company, and one store that always seemed under construction.  


     Vanille noticed the majority of the parking lot was empty, a barren stretch of cracked concrete and faded, yellow paint. There were a few cars parked outside of the studio, as she approached it. A chime rang when she opened the door, it was supposed to let the owner know that someone had entered. However, it did absolutely nothing, as the person in question was still heavily focused on sparring with a customer.

     A young woman in her early twenties with a shock of black hair tied into a loose bun skillfully dodged a right hook that Fang threw at her. She swayed and dropped lower to the ground, balancing herself and giving her time to decide what she needed to do next. Just as she attempted to lunge with an elbow at the instructor though, it was evaded when Fang stepped back enough to let the blow pass by her. The woman staggered forward and nearly fell over, the resistance she expected would have stabled the momentum, but as it stood, she lurched unsteadily before gaining her footing.

     She leaned her head back and blew out an irritated sigh. “Every. Single. Time.”

     Wiping moisture from her forehead with the back of her hand, Fang let out an abrupt burst of laugher, “Nah, you’re gettin’ better. Much better. Just keep at it, I’m sure you’ll get me one of these days, Ang.”

     Still winded, she gave a nod of agreement and hobbled over to a water bottle in the corner of the room, next to her belongings. Vanille gave a polite cough to announce her presence. In what seemed to be a painfully quick motion, the instructor whipped her head up. Upon seeing Vanille, her eyes grew large and soft, time felt that it had hiccupped.

     “You said to drop by sometime, so I did. Is that okay?” Out of the two, Fang had more success in being forward about showing up together or surprising her. Vanille thought it was high time that changed.

     “Hello? Earth to Fang?”

     “Ah, sorry. You caught me off guard. Of course it’s okay.”

     “So, _The Sentinel?_ ” She asked, and her head tilted in question. “Kinda an unusual name. Don’t you think?”

     “Well there’s a lengthy and boring story behind it, so I won’t bore you.”

     “I don’t mind, it’s an awfully dramatic name. What’s the history?”

     Fang grimaced, “Um, well-“

     “Not even going to introduce me, boss? I’m starting to think you don’t like me.” Angela had strolled over in the nick of time, saving Fang the struggle of having to explain.

     “Oh hey, Ang. Vanille this is Angela, or Ang, as we call her around here. She’s quickly becoming a handful to spar with.”

     She nodded politely, “Nice to meet you, Angela.” Then returned her attention to Fang, who started the beginnings of casual conversation. This conversation was between Fang and her friend, graciously taking the hint without further prompting, Angela went back over to her purse and water bottle. She had noticed a complete transformation in Fang and thought it very amusing to keep it in her periphery.

     There was a change in her tone, cadence and vocabulary. For lack of a better word, her instructor was nearly gushing and prattling mindlessly around the girl, whereas before Fang would typically only speak to offer corrections or encouragement to her students. Now, she was speaking and using excited gestures, posture morphed to relaxed and engaged. Angela had never seen her behave this way, but it became clear when a snippet of their conversation reached her ears.

     “-so I’ll pick you up around 7 for dinner, if that works for you.”

     “Hmm, can we go 7:30? I need to call the maintenance guy to fix one of the lights at the center. I don’t know who it was, but one of the kids threw a toy straight up and it messed up the fixture.”

     “A little tyke manage to break a bulb with a plastic gizmo? That’s almost impressive.”

     “Don’t know if it’s broken or not. The owner covers any work that needs to be done, I just have to report it. Better safe than having it fall on one of the kiddies!”

     After a few more minutes of clarifying details, Vanille left with a goodbye to Angela and a ‘see you later’ to Fang. There was a low whistle from Angela, who beamed at Fang with a self-satisfied expression, her face contorted into a twisting grin.

     “What’re you gawking about, Ang?”

     “ _Someone’s got a crush_.” She said in a sing-song.

     “Ahh shut it.” Fang bit the inside of her cheek absently while pondering. She asked after a interlude of hesitancy, “Is it… really that obvious?”

     “Obvious? You looked a kid who was told Christmas was coming early.” Angela said. “I’m surprised there weren’t pink hearts floating above your head.”

     Another client _,_ Johnathon Kiers, decided to join in, unwelcomed. Jonathon piped up. “Gots the hots for little miss Vanille, eh? Don’t blame you, she’s quite the looker. Wouldn’t mind getting a piece of that m’self.”

     “Kiers, I will personally come over there and beat you to death with your own goddamn spine if you don’t zip it.” Fang pointed at the car salesmen, who cowered like a whipped cur, making himself as small as possible.

     “Sorry! Didn’t mean nuthin’ by it! I just say things, I don’t mean nuthin’ by them!”

     “Good luck finding a spine in that one,” Angela grumbled, “try beating him with something larger, preferably with spikes and hooks.” She had said it under her breath, not thinking that Fang had caught it. She did. And nodded in her direction with appreciation.

     Fang had often suspected that Jonathon was only here to participate in other pastimes. As one of the only guys in a faculty full of exercising and training women, it made it seem like he was occupied with it predominately as a spectator sport. He had never caused trouble with her other clients, he paid the fees, so she had no reason to be directly distrustful of him. Training him just as well and sparring with him exactly as with the other trainees. Fang suspected that the others who were training there would engage in _advanced_ sparring with Jonathon, due to the distasteful looks and sneers that his comment had caused. Kiers was entirely unremarkable in appearance. Dishwater brown hair, dark shifty eyes, and a tendency to rub his hands together constantly. She doubted that he was a malicious character, just one that had very few mental faculties.

     There was an hour or two left before closing, Fang spent the majority of it sparring once again with Angela. At the thirty minute mark, she realized that Kiers had snuck off early and was nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

     “Look, all I know is that this is Vanille’s favorite place to shop and I need to get her something for our six-month anniversary of cobbling together something like a normal relationship.” It had been implied nearly from the beginning that their acquaintanceship was not strictly platonic. Neither of them had felt the need to state it, as it seemed so fluid and natural that announcing it to others was entirely irrelevant to their concerns.

     “I still don’t understand why you wanted _me_ to come though.” Lightning sighed.

     “Because, as it has been pointed out to me, I’m not the most delicate and tactful of people when it comes to gifts or surprises.”

     Lightning coughed a word that sounded vaguely like ‘Crystals’.

     “Oh, _you_ want to talk symbolism? Miss _Dressed up like a feathery weirdo and ended up helping save the world_.”

     “How do you even know about that? I was in Valhalla and you were still a hunk of rock.”

     “I have my sources.” She said smugly, leaning over the counter to investigate a necklace made of mother-of-pearl beads and garnets.

     A short, rotund man peered at them from behind the sales counter. He had an alarmingly bald head that reflected light with its waxy surface and a gruff moustache. Short, broad, and seemingly no neck to be found, his head looked like an extension of the rest of his flabby form. The uniform for all employees was the same, a dark blue polo and khaki pants. However, his attire stuck to his frame as if it were plastic wrap. His facial features that of someone who constantly smells something foul, with deep frown lines framing his disapproval.

     “Didn’t your mother ever tell you that staring is rude?” Fang mentioned, not looking up from the display.

     He blinked, not expecting to be called out on what he obviously thought was nonchalant ogling. “What? Oh, yeah, sure. Whatever.” The portly man reached under the counter, putting away a necklace that had been left out by a previous customer’s inquiry. He breathed a quiet, ‘ _snippy dyke’_ as he bent to put the gold chain in its original place.

     “ _Excuse me?”_ Fang turned to the sales clerk, expression the epitome of ‘ _You have got to be fucking kidding me.’_ “Do you mind running that by me, one more time?”

     “Piss off, I didn’t say anything. Now drop it before I call security.” Grumbling, he turned red. The combination of a scruffy, dirt colored handlebar mustache and his current condition made him appear very like a beet with ears.

     “You see the thing is, I could have sworn I heard you say something.”

     “I said, ‘drop it before I call-‘“

     “No, no, I heard that part. What I want to know is-“, Fang approached the counter, but Lightning intervened. She had seen the clerk motion towards something under the ledge, to what she assumed was a panic button. Taking the lead, she turned to her friend and said in an overloud exclamation.

     “Hey, Fang, I think I left my phone in the car. Would you mind getting it for me?”

     She passed her friend a look, and upon receiving an unspoken answer, replied with a forced, “Sure. Thing.” and left, shoving the exit open with unnecessary force.The clerk watched as the thoroughly infuriated Fang exited and stepped out from behind the counter, arms crossed in furthered disapproval. He spoke to the remaining woman patronizingly.

     “Your friend is a goddamn nutcase, lady.” he paused to take a breath, raising a finger in traditional scolding elderfashion. Actually, he would have continued on to say ‘It’s people like that who make this city worse’, however, before he managed to iterate anything else, there was a blur of motion and he found himself wheezing, laying horizontal on the sale floor. The beet look-alike was significantly startled, to say the least. She had kicked the legs out from under his porcine body in a blink.

     Lightning leaned over the gasping, puffing clerk.

     “If you even _think_ about talking about my friend like that again, I’ll make you wish that I’d let her get to you first. Do I make myself clear?” She didn’t raise her voice, she conveyed her sincerity in a calm demeanor. It was not a threat, as those are often empty and without meaning. It was a statement.

     The clerk answered with a wince and a pained gasp, back arching in pain. Lightning allowed herself a small moment of morbid satisfaction, leaving the obtuse salesman to attempt and roll himself back into a standing position. As she left the building, a few of the customers had witnessed what occurred, but held their tongues. The general consensus among the customers, was that he caught a case of karma quite severely. Lightning joined her friend outside, who was waiting in the parking lot by her car, pacing back and forth, muttering.

     “Well?” She asked, voice angry but not at her.

     “We should… probably leave before he regains the ability to do more than wheeze.”

     “Sorry, ‘bout losing my temper. It’s just that we’ve all been through enough shit, to not have to deal with people like that. Right? I’m not the only one here that thinks that?” Fang asked, seeking confirmation that her wrath was rightfully placed. It was, as Lightning nodded in agreement, letting the rant continue.

     “I’ve not been though being a Fal’cie plaything, through being in stasis, and through the end of the fuckin’ universe, to put up with – with people like _him_ saying things when he thinks I can’t hear him. If people like that want to disapprove of me, then they can do it to my face.”

     “The one constant in any universe, it seems, is capability for people to be complete assholes.” She added sagely.

     “With this whole new universe deal, I wasn’t expecting it to be all sunshine and rainbows, Light. But fuck me, I didn’t think I’d _still_ having to be dealing with this garbage.”

     “I don’t know what else to tell you… except that your first bail bond is on the house.”

     Fang lost her anger in the midst of surprise. “You’re offering to get me out of the doghouse, if I have to break some prick’s face open?”

     “Like I said, the _first_ bail bond.” She stressed the word, mouth turning up at the ends, into a subtle smile. While perfecting the delivery of straight-faced remarks, she smiled at Fang because she was being, for the most part, serious. “Come on, let’s go. Any place else you want to hit for a gift?”

     “Yeah, I’ve got a couple of ideas left in this old brain of mine. Let’s hit the road.”

 

* * *

 

     There is something to be said about the effect that dressing up has on people. Both those adorning themselves in fashionable attire and observers can benefit from it. Rarely, if ever, did Fang try to dress to impress, as the saying goes. The type of restaurant that Vanille had arranged for them to meet for their anniversary of sorts, at was not one where her preferred attire would match. It became more a matter of ‘dress to not be blatantly considered a degenerate’ instead of ‘impressing’ the diners and staff there. And though she would have not had a problem with hoity-toity, tuxedo wearing snobs considering her with derision, this was her and Vanille’s day so she complied by wearing more sophisticated clothes.

     Instead of her favored uniform of a tank top and practical cargo pants, she adopted a long sleeve, purple, button-up blouse with a pronounced collar and a pair of black dress slacks. Perhaps not flashy or fancy, but functional enough that she could tolerate it. She put on her namesake necklace, evaluating how she looked in the bathroom mirror.

 _Eh, I’ve looked worse._ She allowed the thought to be used as dark humor, _much worse._ A mental image of the strange crystal at the museum issued across her mind’s eye. Fang was in far too good of a mood to let it detract from her evening. After all, there was no reason to be a cynic now – she had a date to attend.

     Vanille was the one who had made suggested this place, for she wouldn’t stop raving about it, and how it had apparently gotten the best possible reviews from anyone, anywhere, and so on. While she had never eaten there, she had heard from a friend of a friend that it was the only place to go to get ‘real’ food. Fang wondered absently what ‘real’ food meant, as opposed to ‘unreal’ food, which was what exactly? Nevertheless, she had let Vanille be the one to pick where they should go for their anniversary.

     She would have had a criticism of the naming of the place, as **.8** (which she was instructed should be pronounced dot-eight) felt like the owner had run out of ideas on a thesaurus and turned to a calculator instead. Trying to avoid the issue of explaining oddly named things for personal reasons, she kept her mouth shut, cheerfully agreeing to go eat at wherever this place was. If it pleases her, then it pleases me was the mindset she applied, despite having an outing at a decimal.

     The plan was to meet in the late afternoon, before the dinner crowd rushed in and it was hectic.

     Well that was the plan anyway, the afternoon proudly announced a line of people stretching out the door in a quaint reminder of their first official meeting. Fang was waiting in her car, a black unremarkable sedan, for Vanille to show up. She had already gone into the building, gotten a sort of pager that rang when a table opened up, and returned to her car instead of standing in line like a lot of lemmings awaiting the cliff face. She was in the process of dozing off when a quick couple of taps on her window woke her up. It was Vanille.

     Smiling, she motioned as if she were rolling down a window. Fang got the hint, though cars hadn’t had manual windows in ages.

     “Hi!” Vanille said, sounding chipper. “Sorry I’m late! Did I keep you waiting long?”

     “Vanille! Not really. Got a buzzer for when our turn is up, until then, there’s nothing much to do but wait. Want to sit? Judging by the line, we’re in for a wait.”

     “Sure.” The door opened, letting Fang catch a proper look at her.

     She was stunning, absolutely stunning. Vanille had chosen a beautiful light blue dress, it had gauzy material and swooped elegantly into a crescent around her neck, revealing just enough skin to be alluring but not showy. The sleeves were short and only came up to her upper bicep, they were slightly puffy and rounded her shoulders nicely. Such a contrast of colors played with her natural complexion and hair color. Had the dress been just a shade darker, the entire look would have failed. However, Vanille had an eye for aesthetics and the effect was jaw-dropping.

     Fang was utterly speechless.

     That in itself was a rarity.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This started out with several headcanons I had. I asked someone who is a huge fan of the 13 series what she thought about these ideas and got a great response. I'll own up and admit, that I asked her anonymously. I am a wimp when it comes to human interaction.  
> Thanks so much for reading!


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